


While the Capital Burned by Ruth Gifford

by internetname



Series: TrekSmut Illustrated Moments [10]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:06:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3142121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While the Capital Burned by Ruth Gifford

**Author's Note:**

> I and some other P/Q writers enjoy making what we call TrekSmut Illustrated Moments. Costumes are emphasized, and the Picard and Q who appear in the stories are usually not Captain Picard and Q of the Continuum. (We also call these "And Then They Fuck" stories. They're short and fun and give them a try!
> 
> This one is actually authored by Ruth. She let me put it up on my old site, so I'm hoping it's OK to put it up here. (Ruth, if you see this, write me! Love to hear from you.)

These characters are mine, although they bear a really strong resemblance to a pair of Trek characters I'm fond of. So I suppose I should acknowledge Paramount's ownership of Picard and Q. I played sort of rough with them here, but it's not really them, so . . . Anyway, thanks to all the people who have posted TI moments, and merci to Varoneeka for the beta. Keep it up (so to speak)! OK to archive. Any resemblance between the revolution depicted herein and the one I fled is strictly a matter of artistic license. 

While the Capital Burned

A TrekSmut Illustrated Moment by  
Ruth Gifford (c) 1998 

 

The ambassador sighed as the lights flickered. For a moment they steadied, but then they went out. "Fuck!" the ambassador's aide, Andrew, muttered as the shredder he was operating died. "That's three hours earlier than last night." "I know," The Honorable Mark Quincy replied. He stretched out cramped shoulder and looked at the mound of shredded paper he and his aide had created during the last five hours. "How much more?" 

"Not much. If we can get some decent fires going tonight, we'll have the rest of the really sensitive stuff done by morning." The young man sighed and rubbed his eyes. 

"You should rest." 

"I will, once I get a couple of fires going. The guys can take over for a little while." 

Quincy nodded and watched as Andrew left what had once been the reception hall of the lovely Embassy. Now it was adrift with shredded paper and the detritus of a world in chaos. The ambassador knew that Andrew wouldn't even try to rest tonight. Emulating his superior, he would stay up all night, trying to get just a little more done before they had to abandon their post. 

Quincy sighed and reached into the pocket of his pants. Pulling out a bottle, he shook a couple of the pills inside into his hand and then dry-swallowed them. While he waited for the drugs to take effect, he looked over the boxes of paper that still needed to be destroyed. He, Andrew, and his other assistant Gary had already destroyed all the disks, and the computer hard drives, but the paper remained. They would have to burn all night tonight, and maybe they'd actually be done in the morning. Of course if it rained again, they'd have to burn inside as they had last night. The once gracious building that for ten years had served as both work and home for Quincy, was now thick with the smell of unwashed bodies and mildew. Over it all hung the reek of burning paper. The smell was trapped by the thick layer of humidity that covered the capital this time of year, and the prospect of burning paper in this sticky heat was not appealing. 

Quincy took a deep breath and walked over to one of the file boxes. As he bent over to pick it up, the pill bottle fell out of his pocket and rolled across the marble floor to stop in front of a pair of black combat boots. 

"Too much more of this shit and you'll go blind." The voice that spoke was a deep baritone, husky with fatigue and smoke inhalation. 

Quincy frowned. "Yeah, well my mom said that about jerking off too." He held out his hand. "Give me back my speed. You can turn me in to the proper authorities once we reach home. A long spell in prison sounds restful right about now." 

Colonel Jean-Luc Picard laughed and opened the bottle. "My price for silence is a couple of these things." He dry-swallowed the pills with practiced ease and then tossed the bottle back to Quincy. "I won't tell on you if you don't tell on me. After all, these kids have to think that we're doing this on sheer guts." 

A silence fell as the two men looked around in the gathering dark. Quincy finally moved to light one of the battery operated lamps and he had to laugh at the incongruity of its soft glow. "I hate this," he said, looking around. 

"Not any better than the first time, is it?" 

"Hell, it's worse; I wasn't in charge the first time." Quincy knew he'd told Picard about his second posting, but he could hardly remember the occasion. For that matter he could hardly remember the last time he'd stood in an embassy compound and smelled the stink of burning paper. Thinking of the paper made him move toward the boxes once again. 

His move was cut short by the entrance of Gary, Andrew and a couple of Picard's Marines. "Looks like the weather is going to be kind to us, sir," Andrew said. Quincy tried not to laugh at the meaningless courtesy. "We can burn outside tonight." When Quincy nodded, the young man headed for the boxes. "I'll deal with this stuff, sir. You should get some rest." 

Quincy rolled his eyes and looked at Picard. The Marine commander seemed to be getting the same advice from one of his men, and his eyes met Quincy's in a shared look of commiseration. 

"At least eat something, sir," the Marine said quietly. 

"That's a good idea," Gary said, looking at the ambassador. 

"All right, all right," Quincy said, surprising himself. "Col. Picard and I will eat and let you burn paper." 

A few minutes later, as he puttered around at the camp stove that had been set up in the kitchen, the ambassador admitted to himself that he'd given in so easily because he was worried about Picard. The Marine was scruffy in a way Quincy wasn't used to seeing him look, with two days growth of beard and dark circles under those deepset eyes. His olive tee shirt was dark with sweat and his fatigue pants had a rip in one knee. 

"You look like crap," Picard said, causing Quincy to break out in laughter. The ambassador looked down at his own clothes, a sloppy pair of khakis, a dark blue polo shirt that had seen better days and a pair of battered tennis shoes. He knew without looking in a mirror that his chin was rough with stubble and his eyes were probably bloodshot and puffy. 

"I was thinking the same thing, only about you," he said, moving the pot off the stove. "I'll put some water on to heat while we eat this and then we can have a quick wash after dinner." He frowned. "If the call comes in tonight, I'll want to look civilized for the cameras when the choppers come in for us tomorrow." 

"You think it'll be tonight then?" 

"I told them it had to be. The demonstrations are getting worse and I don't want to see any hotheads getting shot because your boys have to defend the flag." 

"Good," Picard replied as he ate. "It's time we left this place to the new government." 

Quincy put his plate down, no longer hungry. "I'm going to miss it." 

"The fighting in the streets?" Picard asked. 

"Of course not. Just the country itself. I've been out here for 10 years now, and . . . well, it's almost home, particularly since Carla left me." 

"That can happen," Picard said quietly, and Quincy remembered that the Marine also had a painful divorce in his past. 

"Mr. Ambassador!" A young Marine came running into the kitchen. He nodded at Picard and then turned to Quincy. "There's a call for you." 

"Better come with me," Quincy said to Picard as he headed toward the room the radio equipment was in. "You'll need to organize the lift." 

Two hours later, all the plans had been made and announced. The helicopters had clearance to land on the grounds the next morning and a military transport was waiting at the airport. The provisional government was cooperating, albeit grudgingly, and things showed every sign of going smoothly. 

Once Quincy and Picard had finished briefing everyone and the Marine Commander had done the rounds of the compound, the two men found themselves in the kitchen. Quincy had heated more water and he suddenly turned to Picard. 

"If we take this upstairs, we could wash up and shave." He wanted to look like an ambassador when he left this place, and he suspected that Picard had no more desire to look like a refugee than he did. "I've got a bottle of 25 year old single malt left in the bribe cabinet." 

"Deal." 

However, when they wrestled the hot water up the stairs and into the modest suite Quincy had lived in for 10 years, the view from the balcony made looking civilized irrelevant. 

"Oh shit," Quincy said. "The oil plants." 

"They went up about an hour ago," Picard said, joining the ambassador at the window. "Looks like Hell, doesn't it?" 

"Literally," Quincy agreed. The oil processing plants at the edge of the city were belching great flames into the night, a fire that Quincy knew could burn for years if not dealt with properly. The sheer destructive power they were witnessing made his desire to look good while leaving seem a like a petty gesture. "All the money, all the jobs, all up in flames," he said softly, almost forgetting that he had company. "All it would have taken was a little foresight, a little planning and all this could have happened peacefully." 

"And to our advantage," Picard said. The words should have infuriated Quincy, but he heard the pain in the voice of the man next to him. 

"Fuck that," the ambassador said. "They could have had better lives here." 

"You really care, don't you?" 

"I can't help it," Quincy said. He remembered Picard carefully distributing food and almost all of the medicine on hand to the local staffers as they left the Embassy a week ago. He'd seen the Marine slipping hard currency to them as well, a generous move that was quite contrary to policy. "You do too." 

"Call me old fashioned, but I think fighting is better left to the professionals. Once you go dragging civilians into it, this," he gestured to the window, "is the result." 

Almost as if conjured by his words, one of the vast storage tanks at the oil plants exploded. The gout of flame that rose into the night sky was accompanied by loud boom and the whole city shook. The violence of it staggered Quincy and he felt his heart begin to pound. Taking an involuntary step away from the window and the sight of the destruction, he slipped and would have fallen if he hadn't been caught by a pair of strong arms. As he struggled to his feet, suddenly aware of the strength and heat of the man supporting him, another tank exploded and another blast of flame lit the night sky. 

There was no rational reason for the fact that, amidst the flickering light and the faint roar of the flames that could be heard even at this distance, Mark Quincy found himself kissing a man for the first time in his life. It was as if the fire outside had sparked something inside him and he wasn't surprised to be kissed back with an almost frightening intensity. Then Picard's lean, shorter body suddenly twisted against Quincy and they went down onto the floor, tearing at one another's clothes as soon as they hit the ground. 

There was nothing gentle about their frantic grappling. Quincy felt Picard's beard burning his skin as the man nuzzled and bit at his neck. Then Quincy was biting back, while his hands wrestled with the fly of Picard's fatigues. In moments they were naked, grinding against each other, their bodies slick with sweat. Quincy wasn't sure what was going to happen next; all he knew was that he was hungry, greedy even, for a release from the tension that had built in him with incredible speed. Picard's hand was hot on his cock and then Quincy found the other man's straining erection. 

"Ohhhh God," the Marine moaned. "I . . . want . . ." 

"What?" Quincy demanded, panting. 

The answer came as Picard's other hand slid down the curve of Quincy's back to rest on his ass. Although being fucked was nothing he'd ever thought would happen to him, nothing he'd ever *wanted* to happen to him, Quincy wanted it now. For a split second their eyes met and he could read a surprise and confusion in Picard's eyes that matched his own feelings. He could also read desire, however, and he spread his legs in invitation, continuing to run his hands over every bit of Picard's skin that he could reach. 

A pair of wet fingers teased the entrance of Quincy's body and he groaned at the feel of those fingers easing inside him. He was already on fire and just waiting to explode in some incredible conflagration, exactly like the city outside. The explosion was primed when the blunt head of Picard's cock began to thrust inside him. It was obvious that the other man was trying to be as gentle as possible, but Quincy didn't want gentleness. 

"Harder damnit!" he grunted. "Come on . . . harder!" 

"Oh God!" Picard gasped and then began to slam into Quincy. "Oh God . . . yes!" 

"Yes!" Quincy yelled back, aware that he was already close to his release. He was being *fucked* on the floor while a country erupted in civil war and flame around him. All he could think about however, was why he had never even thought about this before. It was rough and it hurt and still, it felt better than any sex he'd ever had. He struggled to arch his back in order to get more of Picard's cock inside him, trying to reach for that fire that was set to engulf him. 

Their breathing grew harsher and harsher as they each neared release. "Fuck me . . .damn you . . ." Quincy panted. 

"Yes," Picard grated out in reply. "God . . . so hot . . . so goood!" 

Then even simple words were lost and they were reduced to cries and groans as they pulled apart and then came back together. Quincy was trapped; he didn't want it to ever end, but he had to come right now, right now, right now . . . *now*! With a yell, he came hard, thrashing under Picard as the other man thrust into him again and again. A moment later, Picard screamed and thrust into him once more, staying there as he shuddered through his climax. Outside the city burned. 

 

Two weeks later, there was a knock on the door of Quincy's apartment. Leaving behind yet another box of stuff that had to be gone through, the ambassador without a post struggled through the messy living room and answered the door. Col. Jean-Luc Picard stood in the doorway and when the door opened, he held out a bottle. "We never had that 25 year old single malt of yours. How about some of mine?" 

Quincy looked at the man he'd last seen on a plane as it landed on friendly ground and then stepped aside to let Picard in the door. 

"There's a catch," the Marine said, his voice intense. 

"Yes?" 

"You have to fuck me this time." 

The End


End file.
